Both Styles
by shike77
Summary: KOTOR: LSM. I don't want to know how you wound up racing for the Beks. I really don't.
1. Default Chapter

**Both Styles**  
_by shike77_

**RATED**: PG-13, for Territh's mouth.

**Genre**:One-shot humour.

**POV**: 3rd Person / Carth Onasi

**AN**: Alrighty. I'm new to the KOTOR scene, here, so, I'll introduce myself; Name's shike77, please call me shike, no capitals, L33T or any of that junk. I have **not** fully wrapped KOTOR, but I've gotten to that little yummy Luke-I-am-your-father Easter Egg spot, and I did come **very** close to finishing said game; just the enemies WOULDN'T GO AWAY. You know, that spot where there's a billion of the buggers? I refuse to participate in that one. Because I have a wussy-ass scout. ::sweatdrop:: Yes, she is a pansy.

Su. Very, **very** minor spoilers here; this takes place right at the beginning of the game. I'm sure you've all had this conversation; say the right things to a Sith, and they invite you to a party to get their uniforms. And blah. No, I don't reveal the Easter Egg. ::innocent smile:: Because Secrets like that are so much better when you're not expecting them. Oh yes.

A few notes on Territh: He's about 6'9", well built, and I think I've decided on soldier class for him. Even though I'm fond of scouts, personally. Whatever. Please note that he is an idiot and an utter goofball, and I adore him. He gets the spotlight today because the poor guy doesn't get near enough attention. I almost abuse his presence. So, I've vowed to pay more attention to the bugger.

Territh: ::grins::

Production Song: "Both Styles" – Fruits Basket

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Carth didn't quite understand why Territh wanted to go into the Cantina. The dark-skinned man was probably still a little shaken up from the blow to his head during the crash landing—then again, perhaps he was this insane all the time. He was quick to flirt with the first woman he ran into that happened to be his species, but after a few minutes the conversation turned to credits and he found a reason to split—which was good, because Carth didn't want to waste anything important on this idiot's various exploits. His records were credible, yes—but why the Jedi wanted a goof-off like _that_ on the ship Carth honestly didn't know.

Not two steps into the next room Territh was leaning casually against a wall, flashing white teeth against near-pitch skin and dazzling some girl with his pretty eyes. Carth rubbed at his forehead and found a convenient wall to lean on within earshot. They didn't have _time_ for this—they had to find a way to get past the guard at the elevator, and down into the Lower City...!

"I'm actually only here because of that whole quarantine thing. Kind of a bummer, but I'm thinking it's only temporary."

"Really? I thought you would have hated us Sith even more, being stuck on a backwater planet like this..."

Carth almost choked, and covered it with a cough. _Sith_?! He was flirting with a _Sith officer_?! Had the man no taste?!

"Eh, I was actually only s'posed to stay here an hour or two. Because of the quarantine, I've discovered the new love of my life." And he held up a bottle of Tarisian Ale—half-empty, Carth noted, even though there'd been no time to buy or drink it.

She laughed a little at that, "accidentally" brushing up against him for a moment.

"I suppose we all do have to make the best of things. That's why I'm here; but it's hard to blow off steam when everyone's sending glares your way."

"I say fuck 'em," Territh replied, rather comically. "There are three kinds of people in the world, Sarna; people like you and me, people with sticks shoved up their asses, and the important guys with sticks shoved up their asses."

Carth almost laughed at that, then ordered a shot from a waitress, so he didn't look conspicuous.

"The important dudes don't hang in Cantinas or joints like this, ya know? They're all, 'I'm too important to mingle with everyone else,' so they sit in their little battle ships or big towers and be all, 'Ooh, lookit me, I'm important!' And they stick people like us on crummy planets like this."

The Republic Pilot raised an eyebrow as Sarna giggled at that. He found it hard to picture any of his superiors as Territh described them—he'd known most of his commanders well,

"The people who have sticks shoved up their asses live on Taris; they all suck dick." Sarna burst into another fit of giggles at this, and he paused momentarily before continuing. "They sit around in here and bitch about how much life sucks, and then they go suck some more dick."

Carth could have sworn Territh sent him a pointed grin as Sarna leaned against his chest, laughing so hard she couldn't stand. A very smug, pointed, 'trust-me-I-know-what-I'm-doing' grin. (Which was a stupid thing to swear happened, because Carth had very little faith in this particular soldier's way of handling things)

"And people like you n' me? We shove those sticks up everyone else's asses. And dammit, they bother us and we shove 'em right up there, as far as they damn well go. We're the ones who don't care what the assholes think; we just do whatever the fuck we want, and we have our fun.

It took Sarna quite a while to compose herself afterwards—which involved a swig or two of Territh's stolen bottle of Tarisian ale. Carth downed the shot that had taken forever to get to him, and paid the waitress, but remained. He couldn't just ditch Territh; not even a Jedi could predict the man's actions. So he might very well have been forced to sit through a blasted barfight just because Territh couldn't keep his mouth in the right place.

"Oh, shit, look at the time," she managed after a few minutes, "I've got a shift at the military base to head to." She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing with laughter.

"I'm, um, going to a party after my shift... A whole bunch of us are going, to blow off some steam, if you want to come. It's in the apartment complex on..."

Carth stopped paying attention as she gave him directions to the party, which he innocently took down on his personal data pad. Fuck, what an idiot he got stuck with.

_I've been through worse, I've been through worse..._

"19:00? I'll be there. I've got a friend you should meet; is he welcome, too?"

"Sure thing; as long as he's anything like you."

Territh just grinned and waved as she left. Then he stuck his hands in his vest pockets and meandered over to Carth, a smirk on his face.

"You look mighty pleased with yourself," the Pilot mused, examining a nearby game of Pazaak, rather unimpressed with it.

"Ze ladies, zey cannot keep zeir hands off me."

Carth snorted, knowing full well who had made the first move, even without seeing the entire conversation.

"C'mon, we're going to go clean up for a pah-tay."

Carth rolled his eyes. "We can't go. We've got-"

"Walls with ears," Territh interrupted with a grin, absently heading towards the exit and depositing the bottle on the table of a passed-out man. "We've got plenty of walls. _Especially_ the kind with that wallpaper. Yaknow, the one that has that ear-looking design on it? I know we've gotta sell it somehow, but I mean, honestly, what's a little party gonna hurt? Not like we're making progress, anyway."

Carth shut up, brooding silently.

-------------------------------:::::::::-------------------------------

Territh managed to fix the running water in their beaten-up apartment-turned-base of operations with plenty of time to go until the party started, so they both had a good, long shower. Territh went first, claiming it would take him a few hours to 'do his hair' (which currently looked like a rat's nest). He was halfway done when Carth was finished with his shower, so the pilot, having nothing better to do, talked with him.

More like argued. They argued quite a bit. At first, it was just about going to the party. About saving Bastila. Then, Carth brought up the Jedi insisting that Territh be brought aboard, again, and then Territh wanted to know why Carth wouldn't just trust "poor Terr', who is completely undeserving of any negative vibe-thingies."

_All right_, Carth thought, _I did most of the getting pissed off. Territh doesn't really seem to care._

The party had already started a half hour earlier before Territh finally finished his hair—numerous small braids, left to do whatever they wanted with themselves, as they would hear nothing of being arranged.

"You look like an idiot," Carth mused as the taller man inspected himself in the small mirror they owned.

"Hey, it's not my fault. If we had a real fucking mirror, it would actually look half-decent."

"Maybe if you actually knew what you were doing...?"

"Shaddup wit ya' mouth."

After leaving the apartment, Territh relied heavily on the half-assed map he'd doodled in his personal data pad—and as thus, got them lost several times. Carth finally, frustrated, snatched the device from the taller man and led the way.

As thus, they were quite late, and when they arrived, the party was in full swing. Territh walked in, grinning at being fashionably late, and immediately found Sarna, who latched onto him, and one of her Sith friends, whom he held a drinking contest with.

Carth, in the meanwhile, was content to down a couple shots in a secluded corner and wait for it to all end.

It didn't take as long as Carth anticipated; the Sith weren't used to Tarisian ale, and the strong liquor soon had them all rolling on the floor or passed out. Territh, in spite of the pilot's expectations, was still standing by the end of the night; regardless how many bottles he'd chugged down. _Alright, so standing is a bad word_, Carth thought with a wince as the dark-skinned man stumbled over to a corner of the room._ But at least he's still conscious._

Carth went to help the soldier stand, but was waved off.

" 'Elp me go through these 'ere, eh?"

It didn't take them long to find uniforms that fit them both; Territh had to mix and match, but there was, miraculously, someone at the party who was relatively his size.

"An' Yessee? Dis was aaalll planned t' turn out like dis."

"You're a damn liar, Territh."

"Nnnooo, I'm a damn drunkard. 'Dere's a diff'ence 'ere, Carf."


	2. At the Swoop Track

I want to make this clear right now —I'm not continuing with this. So please don't ask me to. The inspiration struck me, and it was really just me having some fun.

* * *

Bastila took a deep breath, turning away from the corpse of her former opponent in a pivot motion, eyes scanning the swoop track turned battlefield. All save two were dead, it seemed… one of them the winner, the other Brejik. 

The dark-skinned man was clad in loose clothing that consisted of a pair of pants made from denim material, and an open vest. He carried a pair of vibroblades that were wielded with a prowess that matched his heavily muscled form. Raw Force currents, untouched and unnoticed, flickered in his wake, and Bastila realised that this man was Force-Sensitive.

Just as she stepped in to help him, the dark man spun, one weapon hitting at Brejik's chest and another slicing a deep cut through the front of his upper legs. He then hopped onto one foot, using his momentum to finish a second spin and knock the Vulkar off his feet. Brejik fell, and the man descended. The helpless man raised his weapon to defend, but too late.

The last standing man kicked the still-twitching body of his dead opponent to turn him over, then crouched down and started looting through the man's belongings. When she saw him snatch her lightsaber from his belt, she made an indignant noise and stormed over to him.

His head turned when he heard her approaching, but she wasn't paying attention. She stopped in front of him, one hand on her hip and the other held in front of her. "That would be mine, thank you very much."

He stood, easily towering over her, and Bastila strongly resisted the urge to step back. She wasn't going to let some street thug intimidate her. She had the Force, and was trained to use it to defend herself. This was just some common convict, probably a hood his entire life. Knowing Taris, that wasn't anything short of believable. "_Now_, if you wouldn't-" she paused a moment, realising he wasn't even looking her in the eyes. "… mind?"

Then she remembered exactly what she was wearing. Something like a cross between a gasp and a squeak passed through her throat and escaped her lips, and Bastila glowered at the man in front of her.

"You."

When she tapped him on the arm—she'd have to reach up to touch his shoulder, and that would have looked ridiculous—his gaze shot up to her eyes. "Yeah-huh?" he asked, as if he'd done nothing wrong and this completely acceptable behaviour.

"_What_ are you staring at?"

"You want an honest answer, or one that makes you feel better?" He paused in thought for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Well, with some girls it's the same one both times…"

She rolled her eyes, snatching her lightsaber out of his hand. "If you _think_ that I am just going to sit down and become your-" he raised one eyebrow at her, and then it hit her. Her throat momentarily closed over, and she felt a sudden chill. _It's him._

"I—I don't believe this…" Hand shaking, she shoved some strands of hair out of her face. "You're—" _No! Don't tell him that!_ Recovering her composure, she continued, "You're one of the soldiers from the Endar Spire!"

He nodded, an amused smile creeping onto his face. "Don't think too hard, there." He tilted his head to the side, and she found herself immediately irritated by him. "And, I was just about to point out-"

"You know what?" she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. "I don't have time for you. At all."

"But, your-"

"I _don't_ want to know how you wound up racing for the Beks. I really don't."

"But there's—and we were-"

"We?" she mused, then grit her teeth. "Well, I highly doubt that the Beks were in this for anything more than money, as they seem to have abandoned you in battle."

"—But Carth said-"

"Carth!" She stopped dead in her tracks, then nearly toppled over as the taller man bumped into her. With a glare sent in his direction (and a sheepish grin on his part), she asked, "Carth Onasi, is he here? Alive?"

"Yeah-"

"That's the best news I've heard in a long time. Where is he? Take me to him."

"Uh, okay, but-"

Sick of any reasonable excuse that this man could come up with, she turned on her heel and started to walk away from him. "If you have any observations to make as to my appearance, I would suggest that you keep your mouth shut unless you enjoy great physical pain being imposed on your person."

A small amount of silence passed as he walked beside her, and she was glad to notice that his eyes were everywhere but her. He stopped before the exit from the swoop track and turned to face her, blocking her from shoving past him.

"Um, before we go greet your adoring public and find you some clothing, do you want to borrow my shirt?"

She paused. That seemed too… gentlemanly for the character that was before her. Her eyes narrowed, she commented, "Well, you seem to have had a sudden show of proper behaviour, but I am far more curious about the why as to-"

"You seem to have damaged your bondage gear," he interrupted, a sly grin sweeping onto his face. "We might need to replace that."

At first her expression was dubious, as she didn't really _care_ about—

Then it occurred to her what he was saying, and she looked down at herself. Indeed, the top that had been thrown onto her was about to fall off—presumably by blasterfire sometime during the conflict. A deep flush covered her cheeks and she covered herself abruptly, glaring up at the taller man. He just grinned and held out his vest, which she snatched from his grip.

"Insufferable—you-"

"C'mon, Princess, we have a planet to get off."


End file.
